The Reaping Diaries
by Z. H. C
Summary: Twelve districts. Twenty-four tributes. One victor. Twenty-four individual reaping stories about how they entered the Hunger Games. We already know Katniss'. But how about everyone else's? Narratives of the twenty-three tributes and how they were reaped, starting with Peeta and ending with the district One's tributes.
1. Peeta

_**Hello, readers. This is not my first story, but it is my first story for The Hunger Games. I read the books, LOVED them, watched the movie, and now feel compelled to write for one of my favorite series. Enjoy!**_

_District 12. Reaping day._

"Hurry up, Peeta!" My mother called crossly from outside the front door. "I've seen bread rise faster than it takes you to get outside!"

"Coming, Mother." I muttered, setting down my comb. I stopped in front of the mirror in the living room one more time and examined my face closely. What did I see?

Fear, apprehension. I could feel my heart thudding in my chest as I straightened my collar, tightned my belt. I closed my eyes and imagined my face, with the same expression, standing next to some girl at the Tribute parade at the Capitol. Me, looking scared, nervous, and hopeless.

I wouldn't stand a chance.

I took a deep breath and walked out the door into the cool, drizzly day. My parents and two older brothers had already gone, leaving me to walk to the Reaping stage myself.

_To walk to my potential death myself, _I thought. Really, I knew, I shouldn't be so worried. My family's bakery provided my family with enough money, and I had never had to enter my name in for the reapings again for extra food. There were people at school, I knew, that lived in the Hob, that had their names in twenty-five times. Sometimes more. Rumor had it that Gale Hawthorne, a boy two years above me, had his name in forty-two times.

Mine was entered five times.

By this time, I had entered a throng of other District 12 residents who were also making their way to the reaping stage. Girls in shabby, faded, yet clean dresses, their hair braided or pulled back into buns; boys in freshly pressed collared shirts and trousers, their hair neatly combed or oiled back. I knew many of the other teenagers, especially the other merchant's children, but nobody acknowledged anybody else. There was a general air of dispair and gloom, which seemed to turn the sky dreary and gray.

The crowd, which seemed to be sleepwalking, pushed into the Reaping square, the sound of crunching gravel mixing with the wails of terrified children and the consoling of older siblings and parents. I seemed almost numb, my ears turning all the noise into a muffled murmur.

_This is just so sick. _I saw up ahead, at the stage, Capitol employees were fixing television screens to scaffolding. _They're sending twenty-four innocent teenagers to their deaths, and treating it like a festival game._

My heartbeat picking up, I stepped up to the booth where a group of Peacekeepers were registering potential tributes. My eyes were immidiately drawn to girl with a brown braid down her back and a gray dress, standing a few yards ahead of me in line.

_Katniss Everdeen._

The sight of her, standing there, with her hair in her trademark braid and wearing her best dress made me temporarily forget about the horrors I was experiencing. I know this sounds really corny, but it seems like the clouds had split apart, just a tiny bit, to let a ray of sunshine fall around her, literally making her glow.

I must have been really focused on her, because I felt a sharp nudge on the back of my ribs a few seconds later.

"Move it, Mellark!" Someone behind me growled. It was Taylen Overden, an eighteen-year old from my neighborhood. I hurried forward to the booth, my eyes never leaving Katniss. I could see her cranning her neck, a look of concern on her face as she focused on somebody else in the croud. My gut clenched when I thought about who she could be looking at like that.

_Probably Gale, _I thought ruefully. I had been watching, no, _admiring, _Katniss for over ten years now, but the only boy she ever seemed to notice was Gale Hawethorn. The thought of seeing Gale being reaped fleeted through my mind, but then I quickly admonish the thought, knowing that seeing Katniss unhappy would be even worse that seeing her out of reach. Katniss and Gale were best friends, and if they wanted to be more, then I just wanted to be happy for her.

I stepped up to the booth, the eyes of the female Peacekeeper behind the plastic window gazing down at her records in utter boredom.

"Give me your hand, please." she intoned. I held my hound out absentmindedly, my eyes still focused on Katniss as she moved over toward the other sixteen year old girls, and occasionally glancing over at somebody. I felt the prick on my fingertip and pulled my hand away, and then hurried over to the roped off area with other boys in my age group. Katniss was on the other side of the area, still looking at an unknown person. This time, I followed her gaze and was relieved to see the object of her focus: A small, blonde girl in the group of first-year reapees. I'd seen Katniss holding her hand many times as they left school. It was her sister, but I didn't know her name. My own brothers were in the seventeen- and eighteen-year olds' groups, but I didn't look for them. And I doubt that either of them were looking for me either.

I stood there, surrounded by other sixteen-year old boys, and closed my eyes. I hoped and hoped that neither Katniss nor her sister nor Gale, nor anybody got reaped this year; maybe Effie Trinket, the absurdly animated Capitol representitive who appeared every year to choose those who would have 'the honor to represent the twelfth district in the annual Hunger Games' would loose her puffy pink wig and have to stay in the Capitol while another was made; maybe President Snow had just died, and the 74th Hunger Games would be suspended to give the citizens of Panem a chance to mourn their great leader. Maybe...

At that moment, all my hopes were dashed as an explosion rang out over the square. Okay, it wasn't an explosion, but that's what it sounded like. It was really Effie Trinket, in the pink flesh, standing in front of the microphone set up on the stage. Everyone in the square was utterly silent, which made the simple tap sound like a bomb going off.

"Welcome, welcome!" Effie exclaimed, her (literally) painted-on smile never leaving her lips. I found myself at that moment wondering if Effie even smiled in her sleep.

I blocked out the rest of the speech and the film about the history of the Hunger Games. When it was finished, Effie smiled and spoke again.

"As usual: Ladies first!" She chirped brightly, walking over to the big bowl of evil-looking slips of paper. At this time, I think nobody in the square (aside from Effie) was breathing. She reached her feline-like claws into the bowl and fished around. I imagined twenty of those slips saying 'Katniss Everdeen'. I imagined her fingers on one of them, moving to another that didn't have Katniss' name on it, then picking up her name again. I started hyperventilating, just as I always do during the reaping moment. Then, my breath stopped completely as Effie held up her hand, the name of one poor soul on the slip of paper.

Time itself seemed to stop as she unfolded it. Then, she held it up and leaned into the microphone and spoke the two words that would change the world.

"_Primrose Everdeen!"_

At first, the name didn't register. Then I realized she had said 'Everdeen', which was Katniss' last name. And Katniss had a sister...

"_I VOLUNTEER!" _

Everyone in the square spun around to see Katniss, standing in the grip of two white-clad Peacekeepers. She was panting, her hair coming out of it's braid.

"I volunteer as tribute." she clarified. Her voice rang out loud and clear accross the gathering.

My whole body wen't numb; everything went blurry. _How could Katniss volunteer? How could she offer herself to die?_

My heart started racing. District Twelve never did very well in the Games. If Katniss were to compete, she almost certainly would-

I stopped I couldn't think like that. Suddenly, I became aware of everyone around me staring at me. I looked at the stage, and saw Effie and Katniss looking at me. Effie was standing in front of the bowl of boys' names. And she had an open slip in her hand.

I had been reaped.

There is no way to describe how I felt when I walked up to the stage, because it was as if I had been drugged: I remember standing in the crowd, then I remember being up on stage, next to Katniss. She eyed me coldly, as if she was unwilling to show emotion to me. Why did she always look at me like that?

"Go on, shake hands!" Effie urged us. Katniss reached out, and I grasped her outstretched hand. The sensation me me feel warm and safe inside.

"Well, good luck to our District Twelve tributes!" Effie announced brightly to the crowd, bringing the reapings to a close. "Happy Hunger Games everyone, and may the odds be _ever _in your favor."

As Katniss and I were led off, I had only one thought:

My odds had run out.

...

_**Well? Good or bad? Should I continue, or is it not even worth it. I know I'll have fun creating reapings for the other characters. A quick question: Should I put two tributs from the same district in one chapter, or give each tribute their own chapter? Review so I know to continue!**_


	2. Rue

_**Here's the next installment of The Reaping Diaries: Little Rue, of District 11. **_

_**...**_

"Shh, Huckle. Don't cry." I held Huckle closer, trying to comfort him. We were in a wagon, being pulled by one of our farm's oxen, Dandelion. And Huckle, normally a very calm and mellow 18 month-old, was now screaming hysterically. Infants were always scared on Reaping day: The noise, the crowds, and especially the loud hovercrafts that fly over our district, since there are alot of areas where there are no railroads tracks. Trust me, I know. I have two younger brothers and two younger sisters who were the same way.

But no matter how scared my brother was, I was much more scared. Because my twelfth birthday had come a few weeks ago, and I was now eligable to compete in the Hunger Games.

I still remember when it happened: My sister Cayn came running into the kitchen, where the rest of us were eating breakfast.

"I found this on the front steps!" she panted, her unruly hair escaping from under the brim of her hat. She handed my grandmother a white, blank envelope. Because it was blank, I didn't know what was in it, but I sure had a pretty good idea. Turning twelve is both a terrible and wonderful think in the districts, and it was on my mind constantly.

"Cayn, honey, let Grandma see that." My grandmother set down her coffee mug and took the envelope from my sister's outstretched hand. She put her glasses on and opened it, her head moving back and forth slightly as she did. I kept my focus on my grandma's face; watched her wiry hair turn bright silver in the early-morning sunlight.

When she finished reading, I braced myself. In a way, I guess I kind of wanted her to tell me that my name was in the reaping, because I wanted to get the horrible news out of the way. But then my grandma smiled, her eyes crinkling under her spectacles.

"It's nothing, darling. Just a 'hello' from one of my old friends." She folded the envelope up again. "She broke her leg a few days ago, so she was telling me how she was doin'"

This answer seemed to satisfy everyone else, but not me. Because, I thought, no friend of grandma's would send a letter with a Capitol insignia stamp. I knew what that letter really said, and Grandma knew that I knew, but I had to be strong for my brothers and sisters.

I was in the reaping.

And after three weeks of trying to put it out of my mind, three weeks of crying when I was alone at night, three weeks of acting like nothing was wrong, here I was. Heading to the reaping stage in town to see who would get picked. I offered to get tesserea for our family, but grandma wouldn't let me. Instead, neighbors pitched in and gave us a little extra food here and there. My grandma said that she would rather our family learn to live a little harder then to enter my name in twice.

But that didn't garuntee anything. Last year, Robin, a girl I knew from school, was reaped even though she was only fourteen and her name had been in the reapings three times.

And now, Robin was dead.

And now, I was on my way to my first reaping. Walking all around us, or on carts of their own, other families were also making their way to the reaping square. Because the people in District 11 live in isolated farms, the town only has two streets, both leading to the square. The square was the main meeting place of the district, where we sometimes had parties, dances, and weddings. But today, the square was filled with sadness instead. My parents, brothers, sisters, and grandma had already gone, so I said I would take Huckle later. I also needed a little time to myself. To see the farm one last time, to sit in my room one last time.

Because, I knew, I might never see them again.

Dandelion pulled us up to the reaping square. It was really crowded now, and since there were alot of small children, it was louder than other reapings were, I'm sure. District 11 hasn't really caught on with the 'have as few children as possible' idea. I just know that when I grow up, I'm going to find some way to change this mess, and the Capitol too. I know I'm small, but I have a big spirit.

At least that's what Grandma tells me.

Anyway, I had problems to face right now. Like the silver automobile that pulled up next to the reaping stage. There were only a few automobiles in our district, and this one was very different-looking. The ones here were mud-caked and dusty, used by some of our neighbors to bring corn, cotton, or whatever they're growing to the trading post.

This automobile was all shiny and polished-looking. The door opened, and I held my breath as a man stepped out: He was short, really short. I bet even Grandma was taller than him. He was wearing bright green, like the color of spring grass after a rainstorm. He had on green boots with four inch heels, (he must be really short without them.) He had on bright green pants with a bright green chain going from his back pocket to his side pocket; a bright green shirt that was covered in sparkles, and a sparkly, bright green jacket that hung to his knees and had a collar that nearly came over his head. His hair was dyed a shiny black, and was pulled into a tower that stood over three feet above his head. He looked like some sort of bug. His name was Tlinger Molort.

Tlingor Molort only came at the Hunger Games. To me, he was a bad sign, like him being there meant something terrible was going to happen. Especially when he said his favorite line: 'May your good fortune be everlasting!'

Once, I'd asked Grandma what that meant.

"Well, sugar, you know when you hear a mockingjay sing, people say it'll bring you good luck?"

I nodded.

"Good fortune's the same thing. And everlasting means it's gonna last forever and ever. So, that little man is just whishin' us that our good luck will last forever."

I looked for a mockingjay to give me luck. But there weren't any.

Tlinger climbed up the stairs and stepped onto the stage. He was the brightest thing in town, I bet if there were any birds passing, even they'd stop in mid-air to gawk at him. He reached for the microphone and pulled it down to his level.

"Good morining, District Eleven!" He squeaked at the crowd. "Good morning, and may I wish you a Happy 74th Annual Hunger Games!"

Was he crazy? How is a Hunger Games happy?

Then, he showed us a film from the Capitol: the History of Panem's Culture: The Annual Hunger Games. At the end of the movie, it always showed a statue of a victor. I wondered if that statue would ever show me.

The movie ended, and Tlinger stepped back to the microphone.

"Well, doesn't that just put you into the spirit of the moment?" he asked. Again nobody answered. But Tlingor didn't seem to care. It was like he'd been designed to be cheerful, no matter what.

"Well, let's begin, shall we?" He stepped over to the big bowl with all the girls' names on slips of paper. That bowl looked evil. I once had a nightmare that I found it out back, and when I looked at the papers, every single one had my name on it. When I tried to run away, Tlingor grabbed me and threw me over his shoulder, and then threw me into the back of his shiny sliver automobile. Then, a cloud passed over the sun and everything went black. Then I woke up.

Anyway, he stood at the bowl. It was actually kinda funny to see him, standing on his tiptoes. trying to dig out a piece of paper. When he finally managed to grab one, he pulled out, yanking the bowl to the floor. Tlingor fell right on his bright green backside, and papers went everywhere. Still, nobody laughed.

"Well." Tlingor stood up and straightened his jacket, his hair tower tilted to the side. His face blushed bright red, which looked strange against his green jacket. "Let's see who our lucky girl is this year..."

He lifted the paper to his face and unfolded it. I clenched my hands at my sides, my heart beating so loudly that I couldn't even think. There was only my heart and my hands.

"Rue Whitrop." A person behind me whispered. I turned around. A boy, his face dirty, stared back at me. I turned back slowly.

Everybody was looking at me. It was crazy, how those crowds and crowds of people all managed to stare into my eyes. I looked up at the stage. Even Tlingor was looking at me. I'd been to enough reapings; I knew what that meant.

I had to stay strong. I had to do my best for my family. I had to get us one of those houses in the Victor's Village with Seeder and Chaff.

Turns out my good fortune hadn't been foreverlasting. It had barely lasted at all. Because I had been reaped for the 74th Annual Hunger Games. I just gotta believe I can do it. Because I know I can.

...

**_Sooo sorry that took so long, especially after you asked so nicely to see a new chapter soon. Rue will be the last easy tribute for a while; think I could get any suggestions for future (unknown) tributes?_**


End file.
